


Ain't No Sunshine

by RuinNine



Series: Cinema Verse [7]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Common Cold, Doubt, Half-AU, M/M, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 11:35:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3568190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuinNine/pseuds/RuinNine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't all sunshine and roses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lumaste](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumaste/gifts).



> Long time no see. :) Since I've been too sick to leave my bed, I found the time to write something new - or half-new, seeing that it's part of the cinema verse. But I can't stop writing for that, so if one day you think 'enough', let me know. ^^
> 
> Many thanks to lumaste for betareading this for me: You're a life-saver, love! <3  
> [And not only for my fics, but also for otherwise unbearably boring football matches.]
> 
> Still no native speaker.

— † —

 

“Now... what's next...? Ah! Marina from Nike sent me the first draft of the new contract – where the hell did I put it, though...?”

Sergio watches René dig around in the heap of papers he has scattered all over his kitchen table with an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. He knows he shouldn't interrupt his brother, not during the sacred business meeting they hold every Monday. He also knows his brother absolutely _hates_ it when he tries to distract him from all the numbers and facts, just because they bore him to death in the matter of seconds (that's why he's become a footballer, not an accountant). Did he mention how scary his brother can be whenever he tries to duck out early?

“René...”

“Just a moment. I know I printed it out! It's gotta be some-”

“René!”

“What?” His brother's voice is calm and amused. Yet. “What is it? Are you pregnant?”

He snorts in laughter at his own joke, but when Sergio doesn't answer, he _finally_ looks up from his documents. His grin immediately falls as a frown appears on his forehead and Sergio can imagine what he looks like – pale as a ghost, drumming his fingers on his thighs, biting his lip. “Is everything alright? Are you okay?”

“Yeah...” Sergio can't suppress the automatic affirmative, and he sighs in annoyance. It's just his brother! “Remember what I told you?”

René's frown deepens. “Sese, what do you mean? You told me many things over the years.” All of a sudden, his mouth forms a tiny o and his eyebrows rise to meet his hairline. “Oh! You mean-”

“Yeah.” Not like it had been necessary. His brother had probably known long before he realized it himself. “I... met someone.”

His brother leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. It's impossible to read his expression (there is a reason why he lets his brother negotiate the terms of anything from advertising contracts to interest rates) and the feeling in Sergio's stomach turns almost unbearable. “Like what? Like a one-off? Is there-” He clearly fights for the right words to say. “Is there a picture I have to get rid of? A video?”

“No!” Sergio shrugs helplessly, his gaze fixed on the dark spots in the wood of his table. “Nothing like that. I just... I like him.”

He can see the wheels turning in his brother's head as he calculates all the possible scenarios. Sometimes, he wishes René knew better when to be a big brother instead of sticking to consultant advice. “Okay. Let's entertain the idea, then: you get together with that guy. What if he decides to sell you out?” René quickly holds up a hand to quell any protest Sergio might come up with. “Regardless of whether he originally intended to or not. The promise of big money can do that to people. Do you realize what might happen to your career? I won't beat around the bush. It will end right there.”

“I know.”

His voice sounds soft and miserable, and the hard look in René's eyes immediately softens. “Sese... Listen, I'm not telling you to live like a monk, or – God forbid – get a girlfriend for show. All I'm saying is you should be _very_ careful. Okay? I mean, I don't like it, because your entire career is at stake here, and as your manager, I'm responsible for keeping it up. But if you think it's worth the risk...”

He doesn't even say it, can't bring himself to add 'then go for it'. For a tiny moment, blazing hot anger pools in his stomach, aimed at his brother for being interested only in numbers and facts and money. But it's gone again in a second as shame replaces rage. His brother is only concerned for his well-being, and he's right after all. If Fernando is only out for auxiliary income, his career would be over in the blink of an eye.

“Sergio...?” He drags his tired eyes up to meet René's concerned gaze. “I'm sorry if-”

“No.” He quickly shakes his head. “It's okay.”

I know you're right.

 

— † —

 

“Yeah?”

“Hey, it's Sergio.”

“Hey. Are you okay?”

Sergio closes his eyes as Fernando's warm and quiet voice washes over him and he pulls his feet up onto the couch and curls up against the backrest, pressing his ear against the phone. He didn't even realize how much he missed his voice. “Mentally, yeah. But my bones feel like lead.”

“I'm sorry you lost.”

He can't suppress a tired grin. “Liar. I know you're over the moon. But enjoy it while you can. Next time, your striped chipmunks won't be treated to any goals.”

Fernando chuckles softly. “I can be happy my team won and sorry your team lost at the same time.”

“Okay.”

He knows now would be the time, the best opportunity to cancel, but he can't bring himself to say it. Instead, he listens to Fernando's quiet breathing for a moment and hates himself for his indecisiveness. It's not like him to shy away from any tough decision concerning his career – or anything else really. It's beyond him why, all of a sudden, he can't say no to the biggest threat to his career since it started in Seville so many years ago.

“Listen, if you're too tired to go out...”

There it is, the easy outlet. “Yeah, I'm pretty tired.” And yet he hesitates. “But I... I was looking forward to...” He almost swears out loud when he stumbles over his words.

“Want me to come over? I could bring a movie.”

This time, the pause is even longer. He thinks about spending the evening on his own, accompanied only by the painful defeat and the big and silent house. And all of a sudden, the decision isn't so hard. “Sure.”

“How strict is your diet sheet?”

“Veeery strict.”

“How does pizza sound?”

“Lovely.”

 

— † —

 

Something has changed. Fernando can't put his finger on the details, but that much he knows. When he arrived, pizza in one hand and “The Godfather” in the other, Sergio was strangely shy and withdrawn. He moved in for a kiss on the cheek, but withdrew just as quickly and ushered Fernando on towards the living room. I'm glad you came, he said. And that's the last he's heard from him since the movie started.

Or maybe something has changed for Fernando, he ponders, as he watches Sergio from the corner of his eye, one and a half feet between them. The defender has been munching on one and the same piece of pizza for the last five minutes, with his eyelids drooping and his head resting against the back of the couch. He looks like he might fall asleep any second and doesn't realize he's being watched.

Fernando won't lie. The fact that Sergio talked Iker Casillas into calling the security checkpoint and announcing him as his visitor left him bewildered and confused, even though Sergio told him 'we do it all the time, just in case'. Just in case? 'Yeah, you know, in case someone is keeping tabs on who is visiting who. Rumours are born faster than you might think. That's why we distort the statistics.' So no, Fernando won't lie: being announced as someone else's visitor when he's going on a date... in his world, that's creepy. But this isn't his world nor his rules, and he wonders if he got ahead of himself, jumping into this without any idea what was waiting for him. Whatever this is. He isn't even sure anymore that this is indeed a date.

He likes Sergio, he really does. Ever since he came crashing into his world, disturbing his routine of film reels and darkened auditoriums like a painfully bright ray of fame, Fernando felt like there was something growing between them, something gentle and hesitant, but undeniably there. Now though, now that he looks at him, he wonders if he misread the signs. And for the first time, he realizes what he's about to walk into with his eyes wide open. He'll never be able to tell people about Sergio, never be able to get too close to him in public, much less kiss him or hold his hand. He'll always be in the shadows, trailing two feet behind him and hoping that if anything came out someday, it won't destroy them both.

Shit, he thinks, what the hell am I doing? “Sergio.”

“Hmm...?”

“I think I should head home now.”

Sergio hastily blinks his eyes open and sits up, clearly fighting against the fatigue that is still clouding his mind. “Okay...? We can finish the movie some other time then.”

But Fernando doesn't answer. Sergio's eyes, clear now, flicker across his face, trying to determine the reason behind the sudden announcement. “Is everything okay?”

Fernando takes a deep breath and decides to be blunt. There's no need to drag this out. “Sergio... I think we both know that this is going nowhere.”

For a moment, all Sergio can do is blink in surprise. But then he quickly sits up straight, fishing for the remote and pausing the movie. “What do you mean?”

His voice – too calm to be entirely clueless – betrays him, but Fernando humours him nonetheless. “We both jumped into this without looking where we were headed. I like you, and it seems like you like me too, but this-” He points back and forth between them. “This won't work.”

Sergio drops his gaze to the remote he's fiddling with. “Why not?”

It's a weak show of defiance, and it shows that Fernando isn't the only one with doubts. “Sergio, I'm not up for a quick fuck once a month.”

Sergio shoots up from the couch and when he turns back to him, his eyes are bright with outrage. “It's never been about that!”

“I know.”

“Then why would you say that?!”

Fernando pulls a hand through his hair, wondering why he didn't stop this earlier, when the pain still would've been bearable. ”What would you suggest then? How many people would you have to talk into announcing me as their visitor? How many until someone notices? And what then? I don't want to be responsible for your downfall.” He pauses for a moment, but Sergio doesn't reply, his eyes cast to the floor. “Tell me. What would you suggest?”

At first, it doesn't look like Sergio will answer. But then he suddenly looks up, and Fernando can see he's given up. “I don't know.”

“I'm sorry. I wish we'd met under different circumstances.”

Sergio doesn't react, and for a moment, neither of them knows what to say. Fernando can see it in his tense shoulders that this situation is just as hard for him as it is for himself. 'Alright,' he wants to say, 'let's try.' But he doesn't. He already made his decision and even though it hurts much more than he expected, he knows it's the only one he could make.

“So this is it,” Sergio finally says, quietly. “You know, I really thought this might go somewhere. I actually thought this might work. I never meant to toy around with you.”

Fernando looks down at his hands, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “I know. Me, neither.”

The silence stays with them as he gets up from the couch and retrieves his DVD. It stays with them all the way to the door, right up until he shrugs into his jacket, and he knows this is where their paths will break apart. He turns to Sergio, his mouth already open to say good-bye, but he can't get a word out as Sergio immediately moves in to press a last kiss to his lips. Fernando whips his head back as if he's been burned, a soft noise of distress escaping him.

“Don't,” is all he says, and he doesn't recognize his own voice, it's so strangled.

Sergio nods and takes a step back. “Maybe we'll meet again some day.”

Fernando bites his lip and opens the door. “I hope not.”

He doesn't wait for an answer, but he can feel Sergio's eyes boring into his back all the way down the driveway.

 

— † —

 

“Hey, bro, what's up?”

He barely manages a tired shrug. “We decided that it's not worth the risk.”

His brother is quiet for a moment. “I'm sorry.”

Sergio quickly shakes his head. “What's on the agenda today?”

“Well...” René clears his throat, taking a long moment to skip through his documents, and Sergio is hit by a sudden wave of fondness for his brother. Not so calculating after all. “There's an enquiry from Pepsi about...”

Sergio turns to look out the window and doesn't listen.

 

— † —

 

The hissing noise in his head is unbearable, and he can still hear the whistles even though he's one of the last to linger in the dressing room and the stadium should've been cleared of fans by now. Three goals. They got three goals. At home. And he'd been involved in all three of them. He'd tried to prevent them, he really did. His mind was just too slow, and his body wouldn't obey. As the pictures flood his head, pictures of the opposing team laughing and celebrating, grinning at him, feasting on his failures... he bents forward when his lungs fail him and loudly gasps for breath.

Hands close around his elbows and he rips his head back, his arms coming up to ward off the sudden intrusion. Iker slowly swims into focus, calling his name, at least it looks like it, shit, this is too close, too close, they lost, they lost because of him, it has to _stop_. He jumps up from the bench, but Iker doesn't back off.

“Sergio, you're scaring the shit out of me! What the hell is wrong?!”

And finally, he can hear Iker's voice. He stills abruptly, his hectic breathing the only sound in the room. Cris is there too, hovering above Iker's shoulder, and he's wearing the same expression of concern.

“What?”

“I said what's wrong!”

_“So... what's wrong?”_

_Sergio blinks and raises his head from watching the tartan track fly by. He covertly checks for company, but no – he's the only one around. Also, where the hell did he come from? “What do you mean?”_

_Iker clears his throat, and that can never be good. “Your brother rarely calls me, Sergio, and if he does, it's a bad sign.”_

_Sergio immediately stops running. “What did he tell you?”_

_“Nothing.” Iker quickly pulls him on to prevent anyone from catching up and continues in a chit-chat voice that Sergio knows means business. “But he asked me how you were doing in training, and I was like 'No idea, should I pay attention to field player training?' and he replies 'No, it's alright.' and hangs up on me, which is suspicious in itself – and also quite rude, by the way. So I paid attention today and asked some of the guys and guess what: they all said you've actually been a bit off these past few days. That's why I'm asking you now: is something wrong?”_

_“Are you asking as my friend or as the captain?”_

_“Well, seeing how little attention you paid during today's training game, I guess I'll have to say it's definitely the latter.”_

_“In that case: thank you, your royal pest, but it's none of your fucking business!”_

“Shit,” is all Sergio can say. “We lost.”

Iker takes a slow breath, the scare leaving his eyes as he cautiously reaches out and covers his neck with a warm hand. Somehow, that motion grounds him and he relaxes, his arms sinking back down to his sides. “We lost,” he repeats. “I'm so sorry.”

Cris pulls a face. “Sergio-”

He doesn't let him finish. “No. Just... it won't happen again. I promise.” He kicks off his football boots and pulls off his dirty, sweat-stained shirt. “Leave it, okay? Gotta go.”

He doesn't even take a shower, just pulls on a pair of sweat pants and a clean shirt. Iker and Cris try to talk to him, but to no avail. He simply ignores them, throws all his stuff into his bag and leaves as quickly as he can. He almost hits a car when he pulls out of the stadium gateway, but he barely pays attention to the other driver who's waving his hands and shouting and repeatedly punching his horn.

This has to stop.

 

— † —

 

Stay tuned for chapter 2. It will be up shortly.


	2. Chapter 2

— † —

 

What the fuck am I doing, he wonders as he looks up at the black letters without really registering what they say. He's not interested in any movie. He doesn't even know why he came here. The longer he's pulling at the band-aid, the longer it will hurt. But why the hell not? He puts a hand on the handle. What is the worst that could happen? He's gonna say hi to Mr. Torres, get a ticket, walk right past Fernando and enjoy the movie. And he won't die doing it. He will not.

With a curse, he lets go of the handle. Fuck it! He doesn't have to prove anything – least of all to Fernando. He turns away, but he's barely made it to the edge of the cinema before his name is called behind him. Sergio doesn't look back, quickening his pace until he's all but running down the pavement. He can hear Mr. Torres calling after him, but he doesn't stop, and he almost makes it to safety. The old man, however, isn't as slow as he should be. Sergio barely gets his hands on the car door before his name echoes out again right behind him.

“Sergio,” Mr. Torres says again, quieter this time, pleading. “Do you have a minute?”

Sergio doesn't turn around. Stop, stop, _stop_. “To talk about what?”

“About Fernando.”

“What about him?”

“He's been strangely withdrawn this week. Did anything happen?”

And that's just what he doesn't need right now, is it? A confirmation that he's not the only one who spent the last few days off-track, that he's not the only one who invested more in this than initially planned. He narrows his eyes as he turns and studies José's face, wondering whether Fernando's father knows what has been going on between them. But there's no trace of anger in his expression, only concern, so he decides to play it safe.

“All I know is he didn't feel well last time we spoke. I forgot about that when I came here.” He shrugs and tries an apologetic smile. “I'm sorry if I got your hopes up.”

José's face falls. “No, no... I just thought... never mind.” He returns the smile, but Sergio can tell it's just as forced as his own. “And you're sure you don't know why?”

The need to confess everything is unbearable, and Sergio's hands tighten around his car keys until it hurts. But he can't break now. “Yeah. I'm sorry.”

 

— † —

 

Fernando vaguely wonders how many “Big Bang Theory” reruns he has seen so far as the evening news interrupt the familiar cycle of TV series. Maybe he could use that number to calculate the day? But as soon as that thought has crossed his mind, it's gone again. It doesn't matter which day it is. Not really. So far, his parents have respected his privacy and haven't tried to force him to open the door (or worse, used their spare key). He's incredibly grateful for that, but he knows it won't stay that way. Some day, he will have to pull himself out of his misery, have a shower and get on with his life.

But today isn't that day. Today, he will watch five more episodes of “Game of Thrones” and pretend he isn't acting like a lovesick teenager. He wriggles around on his sofa until he's found a comfortable position and then sinks back into the pillows. Maybe he should just take a nap.

He has just closed his eyes when his doorbell rings. Oh fantastic. So much for respecting his privacy. Pulling the blanket over his head, he decides to ignore whoever is pushing the button. But his visitor just doesn't stop ringing the bell, and all of a sudden, he's had enough. Fuck it, fuck everyone, fuck his fucking self-pity! He jumps up from the couch, swaying a bit as his head protests against so much movement and staggers over to his front door.

As soon as he turns the lock, his visitor starts talking. “Hey, I told your dad I wanted to visit you since you were sick and he gave me your address and-” Sergio suddenly stops talking, staring at his reddened nose and his watery eyes. “You're actually sick.”

_The cool air feels nice, whispering across his flushed skin, but it doesn't numb his jumbled thoughts. It's been two days since he walked out of Sergio's house and out of the mess he was going to create by giving in to the childish notion that he could – for once – have what he wanted without paying a price that was too high for him to pay. He just isn't ready for a life in the shadows. Even though it is his profession, he notes with a wry smile. It doesn't stay on for long._

_It's been two days, but it feels like years._

_“Fernando?” A pause. “Son?”_

_It seems like turning his head is swallowing up all the strength he has left, but he does it anyway. “What is it, dad? Something wrong with the projector?”_

_“No...”_

_It seems like his father is searching for words, and it wakes the guilt in his heart. His parents don't deserve to be burdened with one more worry. “I'm okay.”_

_“Are you sure?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_His father hesitates for a moment, but then he settles for eyeing his bare arms. “Come back inside. You're going to catch a cold.”_

Fernando casually leans against the doorway, masking the fact that Sergio's appearance is making his head spin. “Yeah? And?” His voice is slightly hoarse and definitely more hostile than planned, but for God's sake, does he really have to come here, looking like he didn't suffer at all, like they're just good friends, like nothing happened in the first place?! “Would that be all then?”

He's about to push the door closed, but Sergio's hands fly up to stop him. “Hey, wait! I'm sorry, I just... can we talk?”

The no is already waiting on the tip of his tongue, but one look at Sergio's hopeful face and his self-restraint is all but destroyed. “Okay.” He pads down the hallway into the kitchen without looking back. “Coffee?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

And then, the silence is back. Fernando busies himself with the coffee machine for far longer than necessary, but if Sergio notices, he doesn't comment on it. He can feel his stares like pinpricks against his back, just like a few days ago when they did the one thing that was right but felt like the worst decision he ever made.

“Milk? Sugar?”

“No, thanks.”

Sergio's voice is nervous and unsure and it pushes at Fernando's already frayed nerves. His fingers tighten around the spoon and he has to take a few deep breaths to settle the anger that is suddenly threatening to surface. Why come here now? Why make it worse? “What is it you wanted to talk about?”

A pause. “Us.”

Fernando lets the spoon fall into the coffee machine as his hands fumble for the edge of the counter to steady him. “There is no us.”

Sergio continues as if he hadn't spoken. “I missed you, you know. And I had hoped that... you missed me, too. I was hoping that's why you called in sick.”

Fernando chuckles softly, derisively. If only you knew. “Well, as you can see, I _am_ sick. And if you came here just to state the obvious, you can just as well leave.”

Sergio doesn't wait to listen for the cracks in his façade of dismissal, bent on saving the last scraps of dignity he sacrificed by coming here. The chair makes an ugly screeching noise as he pushes it back to get up. “Well, in that case, get well soon. I can see myself out.”

Fernando quickly closes his eyes as his head starts spinning again. He isn't made for this circus of emotions, never was. Never played any games, never gave false hope. “I missed you, too,” he mutters under his breath. “God knows I did.”

There's a long pause and once again, he can feel Sergio's eyes on him. “But not anymore?”

Fernando grits his teeth. Sometimes he wishes he wasn't so honest. “No. Still.”

All of a sudden, Sergio's hands cover his waist, and even though the touch is gentle and hesitant, he starts violently, knocking his hip bone against the counter. But he doesn't turn around, doesn't dare struggle. Sergio's presence at his back is overwhelming, and when his fingertips start rubbing small circles into his skin, Fernando is overcome by a sudden rush of want.

“Don't do this,” he mumbles. “Don't, if you're not serious.”

Sergio rests his temple against the back of his head. “But I am.”

“Then you're a fool.”

Fernando doesn't resist when Sergio turns him around and traps him against the counter. “I can live with that.”

He barely gets past the 'This is a bad idea!' before Sergio's lips find his. The embarrassingly content sound he makes is swallowed up in the kiss, and his heart is beating so fast he's sure Sergio can feel it. It makes him dizzy and he quickly pulls his head back as the oxygen flees his lungs. He sucks in a gulp of air, but immediately regrets it as his clogged nose makes a weird squishy sound. It all but destroys the expectant tension in the air as Sergio bursts out laughing.

“I forgot you're actually sick.”

Fernando can't help but pout, but it only makes Sergio laugh harder. “Maybe you shouldn't kiss me then.”

“If you need your mouth to breathe, there are other places I could kiss.”

Fernando rolls his eyes, but it turns into a roll back into his head as Sergio finds a particularly sensitive spot on his jaw. He's not willing to give up yet, though. “You could get sick, too.”

He can feel Sergio smile against his skin. “I'm willing to take that risk.”

“Really?”

Sergio pulls back with a serious expression and studies his face for a moment. “Yes. If I catch it, we're gonna go through it together.”

Fernando frowns. He's pretty sure they're not talking about a cold anymore. “You're actually serious.”

“I am.”

“Then you're a fool.”

“You said that already.”

“And you need a shower.”

Sergio doesn't even miss a beat. “Alright. You, rest. Me, shower. And then soup.”

I must be insane, Fernando thinks as he lets himself be pushed around in his own home until he's wrapped up in blankets on the couch, listening to Sergio putter about the kitchen. But then again, this may work out after all.

 

— † —

 

Thank you very much for reading! *bows*

**Author's Note:**

> I borrowed the title from the immortal Bill Withers song.


End file.
